


The Long Road to Redemption

by LittleLalaith



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLalaith/pseuds/LittleLalaith
Summary: When Hank wins a motorbike in a poker game, it helps him to start putting his life back on track.Turning his back on his old life, he chases the horizon and meets the people he will eventually call his loves.However, it is a long road and the nights can grow dark.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 34
Kudos: 78





	1. Fuelling Change

It had been almost two years since Cole had passed away and Hank's life had slipped by steady stages into ruin. The agony of grief only ever seemed lessened by the numbing salve of whiskey; long, quiet nights passed easier under a blanket of liquor-induced unconsciousness. He knew, in a deep and quiet corner of his mind, that he was destroying himself, but there didn't seem to be much worth in the alternative. A long healthy life seemed... impossible. No longer a husband, no longer a father, he was left with nothing but an empty home and painful memories. At least, when he was at Jimmy’s, there was something to keep his mind away from the thought of Cole’s laughter, or his scream before the crash.

In the first few weeks, people had been sympathetic, offering him condolences and checking in to see how he was getting on. His neighbour brought him casserole to make sure he was eating but, more often than not, he just let it turn bad in his fridge before throwing it out to make room for beer. In the end, friends and neighbours turned sour when Hank failed to drag himself out of the gaping hole caused by his misery. Maybe his increasingly misanthropic attitude and poor grooming habits contributed the fade out, or maybe they just got tired of feeding energy into a project that would never yield progress. Compassionate leave turned to sick leave, sick leave turned to a meeting about his absence record, and the meeting had resulted in Hank's early dismissal from the force. 

All things considered, looking back, he was kind of glad that things turned out that way. But at the time it had been hell - more time alone to drink, without the financial security to fund it. He’d sold half of his belongings for the sake of his habit, his home turning by slow degrees into a hollow shell. The keepsakes and torturously sentimental trinkets looming larger in the empty spaces: photos of Cole taking center stage once the jazz posters and vinyls were taken down; the small suitcase of children’s clothing lay exposed in the cupboard, now that there was nothing to hide beneath; the dog teddy standing a lone vigil in the corner of the living room, silently judging the stark blandness that prevailed once the furniture and tv were sold in favour of cheaper and cheaper whiskey. 

When the money eventually ran dry, Hank turned to poker; an easy enough transition, given that he spent most nights at the bar anyway. He knew Ortiz and his crew well enough to work his way in, and won a regular spot at the table when he proved to be a shitty cards player. He must have lost almost as much money to the deck as he did the drink in those early games, instilled with false confidence and desperation - a desperation that Ortiz could practically smell, like a shark honing in on blood in the water. If he could work Hank out of his cash, he’d probably be able to work him out of a lot more besides.

Hank had been half a bottle of whiskey deep on the night Ortiz made his move, betting what little he had left for a shot at more booze money. It had been stupid, really. He'd allowed himself to be goaded and antagonised, pushed into larger and larger bets until he was willing to put his own damn house on the line for the sake of his pride and a little more cash. It had been a bad exchange of worth, but Hank was too drunk and too eager to really care - his home, bet against Ortiz' prized motorbike. A 50th Anniversary Harley Davidson Sportster with a custom paint job in deep maroon. The damn thing must have been worth a fortune, without the bespoke leather saddlebags and chrome finish, the embossed seat and top of the range tires. It was Ortiz’ obsession, his most treasured possession. So, Hank had half anticipated the fist to his jaw when he laid down his winning hand. In the blurred memory of the moment, he recalled a number of punches and kicks, then glass broken over the edge of the table before other bar-goers pulled Ortiz back and removed him from the bar. 

Still, the keys were his. And it had been worth the loose tooth and black eye for the redemption that bike gave him. It was funny how things came out of the darkness to save you. 

~

One of the great things about owning a brand new motorcycle was that you had to be sober to drive it. Since losing himself to the drive, Hank had all but given up on driving - he was an drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the kind of trouble that came from drunk driving and he didn’t particularly fancy joining the list of statistics. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to go anywhere that would require him to drive in the first place. He didn’t have a job, no-one to visit, no hobbies that would get him out of the house. Eventually he’d sold the car and had done with it… but taking the motorcycle out wasn’t about the destination. It was about the thrill of driving, feeling the wind against his skin, the purr of the engine drowning out his thoughts. For the first time in months, he wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t his local bar. He didn’t even care where, just so long as he got to ride that beast of a machine along the open tarmac. Hell, even if he drove it once then went right back to the booze again, that would be fine. But he had to drive it, just once. Just to test it before he inevitably sold it off for a windfall and extra drink. 

It had been the incentive that Hank needed to face a morning without his methylated breakfast, then an afternoon without the comfort of whiskey in his chest as he watched the world turn through another day. After that, it had been a rough few days that consisted of a few month's worth of hangovers. He’d been prepared for the sickness and fever, the clammy skin and the constant headache - but the anxiety and restlessness caught him off-guard. It was worse during the first day or two, the siren song of the whiskey in the cupboard temping him in for some ‘hair of the dog’ as he cursed his broken body. The silence was too heavy, pressing on him from all sides, allowing his thoughts to run riot in his pounding skull. He went as far as pouring himself a drink on the second day, but the keys on the counter caught his eye, encouraging him. Sighing, he’d emptied the glass into the sink and gone to the garage, sitting with his back to the concrete wall as he took in the details of the bike, promising himself that he could do this. That he could be better than this. 

And he’d cried. 

He’d cried for himself, for Cole, for the mess that he’d created and the bleak prospects of his future. But when the tears ran dry, he still had the bike. Maybe that was enough.


	2. The Cost of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank makes the plunge and rewards himself for his sobriety.

Another week passed by before Hank felt reliably steady to drive; a week which he had mostly spent wandering the local park, trying to get out of the empty shell of his house so that he wouldn't have to look at it with sober eyes. Seeing how far he'd fallen was worse than the siren song of the whiskey - at least he could pour out the liquor, he couldn't hide or get rid of the house... Well, he guessed he could. But that seemed like one hell of a step to take. 

Instead, he'd scraped together the last of what he owned and bought a bike helmet. Securing it over his head, he looked at the masterpiece of mechanical engineering he'd inherited and let go of a shaking breath. This was it; his reward for choosing sobriety. He ran a hand over the painted tank, up over the leather seat and saddlebags, convincing himself that it was really his. 

"Alright... let's see how you handle," Hank mounted the bike and turned the ignition, a roar of summer thunder shuddering through his system. "Holy shit..."

He revved the engine once, twice, savouring the power of it, the smoothness of the deafening noise. It had been years since he got his bike license and that had been on a much smaller motor; a sparrow compared to an eagle. He'd traded it in for the car when he had Cole... the thought pricked at his chest sharply, puncturing his sense of achievement. 

Hank hesitated, looking at the vehicle that he was only able to keep because he'd lost his son. A shitty consolation prize for the life of his only child… A bike that he’d won, while drunk, in a not-strictly-legal game of poker, with the money he’d received for selling the TV that Cole used to watch his cartoons on, because he was usually too hung over to bother watching anything on it anymore. That didn’t exactly scream ‘triumph’.

And, for a long moment, he considered giving it up and just going back inside. But inside wasn't any better. He could go for a ride on the bike he shouldn't have, or he could stay in the house that was supposed to be filled with a family and mourn for the rest of his rapidly shortening life. 

Looking down at the keys in his hand, Hank fixed his attention on the small plastic dog keyring Cole had given him one father's day and tried to think clearly.

If Cole was up there somewhere watching over him, he'd want his dad sober. He'd like the bike; he'd think it was cool but cover his ears whenever the engine turned over, the same way he'd done when they watched fireworks together. 

He wiped away the tears that had fallen free with shaking hands, steadying his breathing. As much as it haunted him, Cole was gone. Drinking or not drinking wouldn't change that. But he realised that he'd been following his son into the grave with every drink and it was time to stop. Time to find something else to chase out the memories and the pain... a roar to scare off the misery, an engine to put miles between himself and the past. 

Kicking off with a firm push, he started up the road, slowly at first. He tested the heaviness of the turns, adjusting to the static handlebars after so long behind the wheel of a car. But it was true what they said about riding a bike... once he gathered a little confidence, the muscle memory came flooding back. He drifted a little further from his street, testing out the suburbs and eventually the light traffic of the sunday morning highways. All the while, he could feel the dust of more than a decade's worth of stagnation lifting from him, pulled away by the strong breeze and cleansed from his skin from the vibration of the engine. By the time he ran low on gas, he realised that he'd spent half the day just riding around. More miraculously, he'd spent half the day concentrating on something other than his own misery. 

Reluctantly, he pulled out of the gas station and made his way home, savouring the noise that made it too hard to think. When he finally locked the bike back into the garage, his legs wobbled a little and he sat himself on the steps that led from the garage to the kitchen. "Huh" was all he could think to say.

~

The next morning, he went straight back to the bike. Riding it a little further before making his way back late afternoon for food and some rest from the road... and the day after was the same. 

By small degrees, Hank could feel himself shaking off the binds that kept him at the bottom of a bottle for so long. He was eating better, now that he wasn't permanently hung over, and he was putting on some much needed weight. The long drives were making him tired enough to sleep through the long nights, and the maintenance of the bike kept his hands busy when he found himself looking for something to keep him distracted between rides. 

Weeks passed, and then months. 

The only problem was the money. Gas wasn't cheap and he was spending most of his time burning through it for as long as possible. His utility bills dropped to next-to-nothing given that he was spending so much time out of the house. He only went back to make food, when he didn’t pick up lunch on the road, and to sleep. But more and more often, he found himself tempted to take a tent and camp out somewhere outside of the city, if only so he could drive further the following day. 

Which was how he'd come up with the idea to sell the house...

If he sold the house, he could ride during the day and use the money from the property to stay at motels and biker bars until he eventually figured out whether or not he wanted to go back to work. Besides, it wasn't like he spent much of his time there anymore, and it would be another step forward on his journey to let go of the past. There were less ghosts on the road. 

~

The following weeks were a flurry of activity that would have made him dizzy, if he hadn’t been so focused on getting himself out on the road. The house was evaluated and put up for sale, then quickly snapped up by a young couple moving to the area for work. Contracts were signed, details confirmed (Hank’s new forwarding address left blank), and deposits paid. With the money coming in from the deposit, Hank set himself up properly for the road ahead, buying supplies and equipment that would last him well on his journeys: a collapsible tent and camping supplies, a padded jacket, water canteens, a bag for his new clothes that would serve him through both warmer and colder climes. Though, the largest sum of the money went on a sleek sidecar that would carry his equipment while he drove. 

Once the remainder of the money was transferred to his account (a terrifying figure that Hank desperately hoped he wouldn’t pour away in a relapse), he took to the open road. His first trip led him along the southbound Route 65 towards Kentucky, with a mind to head East for the famous Tail of the Dragon trail starting in North Carolina. But he wasn’t in any rush, and he was reluctant to stray too far from familiar ground on his first night as a vagrant. In the end, he’d stopped at a biker bar just outside of Louisville. There would be plenty of time for camping under the open stars, he figured. Might as well break into the lifestyle gently. He paid for a room and locked himself in the little all-in-one studio; the siren sound of the bar downstairs had been torture, but if he drank, he wouldn’t stop, and if he was over the limit tomorrow, he would have nowhere to go. So, instead, he busied himself with some reading he’d meant to catch up on… at least, that had been the plan. But it was impossible to get take-out this far from the city, and the only food available at the bar was downstairs. 

Sighing heavily, Hank slipped his jacket on and wandered down into the chaos of the bar.


	3. Adding Fuel to the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who could this scrappy, scarred vigilante be? ;) 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of a poorly treated cat - but don't worry, she'll be well looked after later in the story.

The bar was hauntingly familiar and yet unsettlingly foreign to him; it had all the same heavy scents and droning mumbles as any of the other dozens of bars that Hank had patroned over the last few years, but lacked any of the familiar faces that he had come to think of as a strange kind of substitute family. But beneath the musk of sweat and warm bodies, there was a kind of homely charm to this place. Hank took in the large room, amused by some of the individual quirks to this particular bar: the bartop itself was a black perspex material, designed to match the chassis of bike tanks, with cliched hotrod flames burning beneath the polish; sturdy chrome and black leather seats were lined up along the customer side of the bar and were mostly occupied by a mix of buff, overweight or scrawny older men in faded denim and leather coats; an old school jukebox sat in the far corner, shining with over-bright neon bulbs and polished red-wood casing - a playlist of classic rock bands and metal anthems poured languidly over the crowd as they enjoyed their drinks, a few singing along to the catchier chorus lines; the walls were covered in an ad lib collection of vinyl records, photographs of celebrities that had visited (amongst their number were a few that Hank even recognised), and an electric guitar, displayed in a plastic case above the bar- beneath it was a plaque, claiming that the guitar had once belonged to Doug Aldrech. 

Hank pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he pointedly walked past the bar and found himself an empty booth near the back of the room. He was met with a few curious glances but was left alone when his long grey hair and broad stature made him eligible for some kind of unspoken acceptance.He belonged here, their gazes seemed to say. You’re one of us. And maybe he was, but it would be a long time before he would truly believe it. As far as he was concerned, he was still just some down-and-out loser who was using the bike as an extreme band-aid for his own issues. But… maybe he could work on that, earn a spot with the regulars and find himself a little group of like-minded bikers to call friends.

As he settled his weight into the scuffed leather seat of the booth, he felt some of the pressure easing from his temples. A grease-stained laminated menu had been propped on the table, so he was able to delay approaching the tempting line of liquors for a little while longer. Of course, it didn’t help that the menu seemed custom-designed to be best matched with a cold beer. As he browsed the selection of steak-house style dishes and BBQ inspired sides, Hank caught himself analysing the people at the bar with a passive curiosity. You didn’t spend the better part of your adult life working as a cop without picking a few bad habits...

Most of the patrons were men, mostly in their middle-age but there were a handful of younger guests sitting together in the booths. A particularly large group sat near the door, the matching snake insignia on the back of their jackets stood testament to their status as a gang; Virginia Vipers, Hank read the scroll-style script beneath the coiled viper design. Not one he was familiar with, but there was something about them that caught his eye. The leader (Hank assumed he was the leader, given the way that the rest of the group were watching him and listening intently) was gesturing to a roadmap splayed out over the table, tracking routes and marking certain spots along the way. 

As he was watching their little meeting, one of the men looked over and caught Hank’s eye. Chocolate brown eyes met with washed-out grey and Hank felt a little colour rise to his cheeks. He looked away sharply, fixing his attention on the menu before risking another look back. The stranger was smiling at his companion, laughing at something that had been said. He seemed particularly young compared to the rest of the group, and his puppyish features placed him at definite odds with the hard-core, heavily masculine bar. But Hank found that he was fascinated by him, the delicate way he perched on the back of the booth chair, his pale hands massaging the hair of whoever was sitting in front of him. He was pretty… and Hank kind of liked him about it. 

Still, Hank was hardly in any kind of position to be approaching biker gangs or hitting on men in a bar like this - besides, he was past his prime and the puppy-eyed twink was far out of his league. Not to mention the fact that he was probably hooking up with someone else in the gang, and that was if the guy was even into other men in the first place. It was better if Hank just left well enough alone and saved himself the humiliation (and potential black eye). With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the menu in earnest and tried to settle his mind between the buffalo wings and the hot wings, probably with fries. 

Before he could make up his mind, a crash echoed through the hubbub of the bar; the general chatter quietened and heads turned to a table near the front door. A deep and graveled voice followed sooner after, as a man who looked a little younger than Hank, clad in a brown leather jacket shouted, “Hey!! Hey, stop that!!”

Hank watched as the guy darted past the table and sprinted for the front door, not giving too much notice to the couple he had barged on his way out. Many of the other patrons looked amongst each other, confused by the outburst. But none of them stood to follow. Even the Vipers in the corner were content to just let him pass without much interference. Unfortunately for Hank, decades of training and a long career with the police force had him rising to his feet to follow before his brain could catch up with him. He jogged in the man’s wake, keeping an eye on his surroundings in case it was some kind of trick.

By the time he made it outside, the man was already halfway across the parking lot, closing in on a group of other bikers. Hank barely had time to register how many there were in the group at the other side of the parking lot, before the stranger in the brown jacket had shortened the distance to a few meters, his boots thudding in staccato beats as he approached. A furious roar echoed from his throat, a fist curling in at his side as he drew close. There was a moment of perfect stillness, which fractured with explosive energy as the stranger threw his fist into the jaw of one of the gang. The gang member yelped in a mix of pain and surprise before the other members swarmed, circling the brown-jacketed antagonist and throwing him to the ground. 

Once down, the presumed leader drove a boot straight into the stranger’s stomach, which was mimicked by four other boots along different areas of his body with keen enthusiasm. Hank stood in stunned horror as it happened, all of it taking place in the matter of moments that it took for him to remember how to move, how to speak, how to do anything. 

“Hey! That’s enough” he shouted, running towards the fight. 

As he drew closer, he saw the stranger strike out and hold fast to his attacker’s foot; he sank his teeth into the denim-clad calf, drawing a keening howl from the gang member. But before he could use the opportunity to get away, he was grabbed by the collar and hoisted to his feet, his arms brought behind him and pinned in place as the bitten gang member delivered a succession of punches into the man’s gut. 

Hank closed the distance and grabbed the gang leader by the collar, shaking him roughly until he let go of the jacket-wearing lunatic. Once released, Brown Jacket dropped to his knees and curled into a ball, coughing weakly as pain and nausea overtook him. Hank spun the gang leader sharply and kept a firm hand on his shoulder; he kept the rest of the group in his peripheral, ready to run back to the safety of the bar if they made a move.

“That’s enough! Six on one is no fair fight and you know it. Now back the fuck off or I’ll have to book this as a physical assault.” Hank instructed, doing his best to keep his voice level. 

He had expected protestations about the stranger starting the fight, about them defending themselves or some other self-righteous bullshit. But what he hadn’t expected was for the smallest of the gang to square up to him, looking him up and down with a scrutinizing view. Nevermind the fact that Hank was a head taller and outweighed the kid by at least 60 pounds. 

“You a fucking cop?” the pipsqueak sneered.

“Detective, actually. Homicide. So unless you all want your asses hauled to a lock up, you better hightail it.”

The leader of the gang shrugged Hank’s hold and glared at him before spitting venomously at his feet. Hank had half a mind to grab him by the neck and force him to lick it up off the tarmac, but he just about kept his temper. Didn’t want to make this situation any more volatile than it already was. Besides, six on two wasn’t much of a fair fight either. 

With a succinct gesture, the gang leader rallied his team and walked casually to the other end of the car lot. There was a staggered, uneven roar of engines sparking to life, then the warm, dusty breeze as the gang drove past them - a little too close for comfort. 

Hank looked at the stranger who had started all of this and walked over, crouching at his side. He wasn’t bleeding, which was a good side, but he was obviously winded. Hank hoped that a little breathlessness was the worst of his ailments. “You know, you’re terrible at math.” he teased, offering him a hand.

But the stranger ignored him, dragging himself over to a black bin bag that had been left behind by the gang. Hank frowned, assuming that the bag would be full of the guy’s belongings; that he saw them trying to take off with his stuff and had attacked them to prevent the theft. But as scuffed fingers broke through the plastic, Hank heard a distressed meowling and he watched closely as the stranger drew a tattered, badly malnourished stray cat from the bag. The beaten man cooed and hushed it, settling the cat in his lap and soothing her with a gentle hand. 

“Holy shit, is it ok?” Hank asked, reaching over to stroke the animal’s neck with a fingertip. She was matted and scarred, obviously terrified. “Is this your cat?”

“Nah, just a stray that I’ve seen hanging around these parts for the last few weeks,” the stranger explained, doing his best to shield the cat from the breeze and to calm her down. “And I know what I did was dumb. But those assholes would have done something awful to her and I couldn’t let them just....”

Hank nodded, knowing how he felt. Shit, if he’d known that there was an animal at risk, he wouldn’t have been nearly as polite back there. Probably for the best that he’d been in the dark on that front. 

“Thanks for stepping in, I’d have been strapped to the back of a bike and dragged raw down the road if you hadn’t gotten involved,” the jacket wearing cat-rescuer scoffed, then offered his hand. “I’m Gavin.”

“Hank,” he offered in return, turning his gaze to the road to make sure the gang had gone on their way. The last thing he wanted was for them to gather more numbers and come back for Round Two.

“Let me buy you a drink, Hank. Least I can do.” Gavin offered, getting to his feet and cradling the cat against his chest. The frightened animal clung to his leather jacket, eyes alert and claws dug firmly into his shoulder. 

“Thanks, but I’m clinging to sobriety at the moment,” Hank scoffed lightly. 

“Well then, how does some food sound?” Gavin insisted with a crooked wink. “Al’s does the best Buffalo Wings this side of the tracks.”

“Sure… that sounds great,” Hank conceded, a little touched by Gavin’s generosity. 

“Let me just get the cat secured in my motel room and I’ll meet you in the bar,” he explained, starting to walk towards the metal walkway that led to the motel studios. “I don’t trust those assholes not to come back and hunt her down. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ve got a booth at the back,” Hank explained, watching him go before starting towards the bar. The returned call of ‘Oh, I know’ caught him off guard and he frowned back in the direction of the motel rooms, but Gavin was walking with his back to him now. He’d noticed… like he’d been watching? Hank couldn’t think why. And he didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.

Still, he pushed open the door to the bar and was startled when a good-hearted cheer rose up throughout the room. In particular, the cute brunette that Hank had less than subtly been eyeing up earlier gave a cat call and shouted ‘Our hero!’ as he passed. Hank gave an awkward smile and waved off their attention, just wanting to hide himself away and get this night over with. 

“Alright, alright. Settle down…”

But he had to admit, it was kind of nice to find himself around good company again. And he didn’t feel like he needed two thirds of a bottle in his stomach before he could face any of them. They seemed accepting, friendly. Like he belonged. It was nice.


	4. On Tentative Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Gavin spend some time together, sharing stories and buffalo wings. 
> 
> And then Gavin makes an offer... ;p

When Gavin came back to the bar, he had tidied himself up and was greeted with another playful round of applause. He spread his arms wide and took a bow, playing into the attention as he navigated his way through the room. He stopped at the bar for a moment, ordering the wings, before he brought over two glasses of cola and slid into the seat opposite Hank. 

“Hey, I half expected you to scurry away to your room and stand me up,” Gavin teased, noticing the self-conscious way that Hank was pressing himself into the far end of the seat and avoiding eye contact with any of the patrons that passed by. 

“Yeah, well… you owe me wings and I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Hank explained. 

“Big boy like you? That can’t be allowed,” Gavin teased, pushing one of the glasses towards Hank. “I’ve never seen you around these parts before. You new?”

Now that he could get a good look at him, Hank had to admit that the younger man had a strange kind of charm to him. He was stocky across the shoulders and chest, but didn’t seem too broad. His brown hair was cropped short at the back and sides, but fluffed up near the front. His hazel green eyes were curious and confident, unintimidated. Hank hadn’t noticed it when they’d been out in the dark car lot, but under the bright fluorescent bulbs of the bar he could see the tracks of old scars running across the bridge of his nose and continuing discreetly along his cheek. He wondered whether Gavin had earned the scars from a fight or from a bike accident. His money was on the former.

“Yeah, just passing through. Set out from Chicago,” Hank explained, taking a sip of his drink. “What about you?”

“Eh, I’ve been riding since I was old enough to own a bike. This is my fifth time down 65, but you get to know the regulars, you know? Folks you meet in different places along the way, familiar faces when you stop at biker bars, that kind of thing. I try to memorise as many faces as I can, if only so I know who to watch out for,” Gavin explained. 

“More like, so you know who you can pick a fight with.” Hank raised a brow, “Christ, you could have gotten yourself killed out there.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t really thinking about that, you know. Just saw them with the cat and… I just saw red. Guess I’m not getting any wiser with age, huh?”

Hank nodded, but the question got him wondering about how old his new-found friend really was. It was hard to pin an age on Gavin. He was younger than Hank, definitely. But he had the kind of boyish features that could have let him pass for mid twenties, especially when he smiled. But there was a firmness to his expression, the tell-tale lines of age appearing at the crease of his brow and each side of his mouth. At a guess, Hank would put his money on ‘mid-thirties’, maybe a little older. It was almost impossible to say for sure.

Hank was about to say more when a huge platter of buffalo wings was placed carefully on the table, with a muttered warning of ‘don’t touch the plate, it’s still hot’ before the kitchen server was walking away to buff a table and collect plates. Hank gave a low whistle of appreciation and looked back to his companion.

“When you said buffalo wings, I thought you meant just a plate. Not a whole buffalo,” Hank half-joked. “You want some of these?”

“I was hoping you’d offer,” Gavin laughed, reaching for one of the wings closest to him. But he hesitated. Then, after a moment of consideration, he got up and walked to the bar, coming back with a handful of napkins. “Trust me, you’re gonna need these.”

Hank took a few and started up on the wings, and christ he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. For a few minutes they ate in silence, Hank taking as much as he liked and Gavin picking from the wings that were left. But even between the two of them, it proved to be a little too much. With a deep breath, Hank sat back in his seat and rested a hand on his bloated stomach. “That’s it, I’m done. Any more and the bike won’t take off tomorrow. You want to take the rest back to your room for the cat? She looked like she could use a few extra meals,” Hank offered.

Gavin uttered a quiet ‘thanks’ and piled the remaining wings into an opened napkin, trying to remove most of the sauce and bones so that she’d be able to eat it easier. 

“What are you going to do with her anyway?” Hank asked.

Gavin was quiet for a moment, but his right shoulder ticked up in a shrug. “Not sure. I don’t really want to leave her here. She doesn’t look like she’ll last more than a week or more if she stays on the streets. But taking a cat out on the road isn’t exactly ideal either. Guess I could drop her off at a shelter, but I’m worried they’ll have her put down or something. Cat in that condition, completely feral, I doubt they’d rehome her… So, for now, I guess I’ll take her with me and see what I can do to help her get healthy. Then if she doesn’t enjoy the travel, I’ll bring her back here and let her loose.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Might want to see if you can stop by a vet or something along the way…” Hank suggested. 

He was surprised when Gavin scoffed, but he caught Hank’s confused look and winced a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s just that... vets are great, but they’re expensive. I don’t run with a gang so I don’t exactly have the spare cash, you know?”

Hank nodded, feeling like he had stumbled onto something he hadn’t even considered before. How did all of these people afford to travel? Sure, Hank was doing it, but he’d sold his damn house and put everything he had into travelling. Those gangs… a lot of them were born to it, or recruited at a young age. So he supposed they got their money from the group, probably a lot of it came from drug running. But he knew that there were gangs who ran on the right side of the law too. Folks who did repairs, maybe. Or worked shifts at the towns they visited and then went on their merry way. And of course, some of them only traveled as a kind of vacation activity. But judging from the sun-ripened tone of Gavin’s skin, the dryness of his hands and his talk of driving the routes multiple times, he was a full-time traveler too. A vagrant, a fellow vagabond.

“How do you get money to eat, or to stay at motels?” Hank asked, then caught himself. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Depends. I sometimes work my ass off during the autumn to get cash in hand from the farmers and orchard owners. They usually pay around twenty bucks an hour for a dedicated labourer. But through the rest of the year...whatever I can get my hands on. I pick up trinkets when I go past the coast, sell them on when I get to the towns.” he shrugged. “Truth be told, I don’t often stay in places like this. Usually camp out, cook up a tin of whatever and pack up early to take to the road again. Fuel’s the main kicker though.” Gavin explained, occasionally stopping to lick a smudge of barbeque sauce from his fingers. 

Hank’s eyes dipped to Gavin’s mouth as he did, tracking the movement of his soft, pink tongue against skin before dragging his gaze back up to amused eyes. Gavin smirked a little and used a napkin to wipe off the rest - and Hank felt his face burn up. Christ, how long had it been since he’d gotten this fucking worked up over a couple of young faces and friendly company. It turned out that sobriety was promising to be one huge thirst-fest with blue-balls as an ample replacement for hangovers. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

“If you’re just starting out, you’ll want to make sure that you have enough saved by for fuel. Some of those highways stretch for miles and miles without a single building in sight. Last thing you want is to be half way down Death Valley with nothing but fumes in the tank and half a canteen of water… trust me on that one,” Gavin winked, somehow managing to squeeze both eyes shut as he did it.

“Don’t worry, I have enough saved by. I didn’t work for near enough thirty years for nothing,” Hank smiled, trying his best to pretend that he wasn’t painfully aware of Gavin’s v-neck shirt. And goddamn he was going to have to get himself in check.

“Thirty years? Damn, you look good for your age,” Gavin smirked, pushing the plate of wings aside slightly so that he could lean his elbows on the counter. He made a show of giving Hank a once over, his eyes narrowing a little as he tried to work something out. The longer it went on, the more Hank wanted to clear his throat, or say something, or excuse himself for a trip to the bathroom. But just as he was about to break the silence, Gavin spoke. 

“Now, this might land me with a few new scars, but I think I’m reading the room right on this one,” He caveated, his hazel eyes drinking in Hank’s chest and shoulders before he met his gaze again. “How would you like some company tonight?”

Hank blinked, completely blindsided by the question. Yes. Yes, he would like company. But that wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Gavin was clearly a lot younger than him, and they had only just met. If Gavin threw himself this eagerly at every guy who gave him the time of day, and had no money for check ups, who only knew what he might have picked up. And besides, Hank wasn’t even sure if he could… well, it had been a long time since he’d bedded anyone. There had been a handful of sloppy, drunk one night stands back when his ex wife had first left. But when the drink took hold, he hadn’t really had the strength or the wherewithal to get intimate with anyone. And he wasn’t the same muscular cop that he had been in his youth. He was ‘soft’ at best, and grey...and hairy. 

But the way Gavin was looking at him, the unapologetic hunger in his eyes. It was apparently working for the guy. God damn, this kid must have had the world’s worst daddy issues. 

“I… I don’t…” Hank stumbled, his cheeks blazing redder than they’d ever been from whiskey or bourbon. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” Gavin soothed, reaching a hand across the table and gripping Hank’s large paw of a hand in his own. “We don’t have to go wild, or anything. We can just make out for a bit, see what happens. Besides, I want to thank you properly for saving me out there.”

“You don’t… have to do that.” 

Gavin pouted a little and hesitated, “So, you don’t want to? It’s ok if you don’t. Just tell me to leave off and I will.”

“No, I…” Hank took a steadying breath and tried to meet his gaze. 

He didn’t feel like he deserved this. He didn’t understand why Gavin would offer him this. But he guessed it wasn’t really up to him. If Gavin found him attractive then he found him attractive, Hank didn’t get to dictate what the guy found sexy. And he did want Gavin… even if it was just to hold; to feel the warmth of another person pulled protectively against his chest, to feel the subtle rise and fall of their breathing, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. That he was allowed to be near other people. That he was allowed to exist, and to allow himself some of the things he wanted in life. 

After all, refraining from alcohol didn’t mean that he had to refrain from everything. 

And it would be a welcome distraction.

“Sure, you can come back to my motel room. We’ll see what happens,” Hank accepted awkwardly, turning his hand to squeeze Gavin’s subtly before letting go. At the end of the day, he didn’t really know how this community took to different sexualities, and it sounded like Gavin had received more than a few beatings for his advances in the past. 

Gavin heaved a dramatic sigh of relief and smiled at Hank, laughing lightly. “For a minute there, I wasn’t sure whether you were going to punch me or run out of the bar.”

“Not the first one, but maybe the second one,” Hank chuffed.

Getting up, Gavin gave Hank a pointed look and waited, “Well… unless you wanna order more wings?”

Hank’s heart skipped hard in his chest, but he could feel a long forgotten fire beginning to kindle in his stomach as he followed Gavin back to his motel room.


	5. Swing and a Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Body issues and insecurity
> 
> Hank and Gavin get down and dirty but Hank gets cold feet. 
> 
> Thankfully, Gavin is a very patient bed-buddy and helps to calm him down

The moment the door was closed and locked behind them, Gavin had a hold of Hank’s wrist and was guiding him enthusiastically towards the bed. Hank crawled up onto the mattress, feeling too large, too cumbersome, but there was an old excitement starting to thrum in his veins. He pulled Gavin close as he lay back against the blankets; the biker’s weather-worn fingers splayed in Hank’s hair and guided him close for a kiss. And Hank felt something inside of him snap, like he’d been holding tension in a part of himself that he’d forgotten existed. He made a soft sound, melting into the kiss and pressing his weight into Gavin. His lips were soft but persistent, keeping up with Hank’s slowly-growing confidence without pushing for too much too soon. Hands traced his side and chest slowly, keeping him close as he drank in the taste of him.

When they eventually parted for breath, Hank took in the sight of Gavin deshevelled and breathless before him, and felt a stupid grin creeping over his features. “Shit… Forgotten how much I missed that.”

Gavin laughed and leaned up to nip and kiss along Hank’s neck, earning a low groan that trailed off into a pleased growl. His hands smoothed over Hank’s sides and toyed with the hem of his shirt. 

“Wanna show me what else you missed?” Gavin all but purred, leaning into Hank’s weight so that he could claim the higher position, giving him leverage. But he didn’t push, just passed his fingertips along the edge of Hank’s shirt, teasing at the sensitive skin beneath.

Hank hesitated, his hands moving to shoo Gavin’s fingers away. Where Gavin was all wire and steel, Hank felt too soft, too fat… He decided to change the focus until he was more comfortable, so he pulled Gavin back to his chest and stole another kiss. Gavin hummed happily and rested his palms against Hank’s chest, teasing a little at his neckline, or skimming over a nipple as the kiss deepened. Each touch was electric, pulsing deep into Hank’s body but also leaving his skin feeling a little too sensitive. Raw. He tried to push past it, tried to ignore the insistent string of anxious thoughts that tried to distract him from Gavin’s mouth. His hands. His ass. 

Slowly, Hank ran a hand underneath Gavin's shirt, pressing his fingertips into the subtle softness of his lower back before sweeping up along his side. Gavin pressed close, nipping at Hank’s lip gently as the ex-cop explored Gavin’s skin, mapping out the shape of another body against his after so long without. 

“Here…” Gavin murmured quietly before leaning away slightly, using the space to shimmy off his own shirt. 

He lay back, smirking as he let Hank drink in the sight of him. He was toned, but an endearing layer of fat softened his figure, made him seem somehow far more appealing than if he’d been made of intimidating muscle and perfectly unblemished skin. He was real - with little sun spots and scars decorating his olive-tan skin, his chest rising and falling in eager, shallow waves. Hank traced a finger over each little landmark of his skin, eventually slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him back into a kiss. 

Christ, he didn’t understand why someone like Gavin would want to be here. Why he would want to share himself like this to someone like Hank. He shook the thought away violently, trying to keep his attention on the way Gavin was stroking his hip and outer thigh, his hips rolling in little motions as he melted into the attention. 

“Your turn.” Gavin purred, his fingers catching on the hem of Hank’s shirt. 

When Hank tensed, Gavin kissed him sweetly and waited, “It’s ok… I wanna see all of this gorgeous man I got in bed with me.”

Hank gave a weak, breathy laugh and eased up, letting Gavin pry the jacket from his shoulders then pull the shirt up over his head. And Hank felt too exposed. His thoroughly undefined torso seemed grotesque beside Gavin’s carefully balanced physique. He was pasty and hairy, too pale… But Gavin growled and pressed in close to kiss and tease a line along his shoulder. He encouraged Hank to lie back against the mattress so that he could divert his attention to a nipple. Hank gasped, his fingers instinctively rooting in Gavin’s hair and gripping gently. The insatiable brunette groaned and licked broadly at the sensitive skin, hazel eyes wide and watching every little reaction that he could glean from his insecure partner. 

But he missed the tension in Hank’s jaw, mistook the crease of his brow for arousal, not discomfort. 

“Lift your hips a little for me?,” Gavin prompted, clever fingers working Hank’s belt loose. He took his time, gaze fixed on Hank as he worked, trying to get a read on his mood, trying to figure out if he was going too fast. 

“I want to make you feel good… so just relax and let me take care of you. I promise I’m better with my mouth than I am with my fists,” he smirked, then realised the double entendre and had to bite down a snort of laughter. “Like fighting...not like…. Unless….”

“No, thanks,” Hank answered, stroking at Gavin’s hair with a mix of affection and uncertainty. “Your mouth is plenty....”

Gavin grinned and helped Hank to shimmy out of his jeans, taking a moment to nuzzle at his hip, a warm palm rubbing tenderly against his rapidly hardening cock. Those soft lips teased at him through the fabric, bringing him to full hardness. “Fuck, you really are a big boy, huh?”

As his boxers were pulled down, Hank took a steadying breath and settled himself into the pillows a little, trying to steady the panicked tattoo of his heart against his chest. His hands danced nervously between the sheets and Gavin’s skin, gripping lightly at his hair before rising to hide his own face as Gavin’s mouth enveloped him. A shaky groan broke from his throat, pleasure battling for ground in his mind but struggling to overpower the nerves.   
Gavin eased off slowly, his hand taking up the slack as he pressed kisses to Hank’s hip. “You look fucking gorgeous, babe,” Gavin purred, those bright eyes seeming to scan each and every detail of Hank’s body. Every generous inch of him. Every scar. Every blemish. Every flaw.

It was too much.

“Gavin… stop…” Hank muttered quietly, panic crashing through his high. “Stop!”

Immediately, Gavin sat back and stopped his ministrations, his expression worried. “What’s wrong?”

Hank couldn’t find the words. He could only sit up, drawing his knees up against his chest, shielding his bulbous mass from Gavin’s sight. His breath hitched slightly and his eyes were misting over but he couldn’t find the words to explain. He wanted to run, to order Gavin to leave… to hide. Even the air felt too abrasive over his naked skin, judging... Gavin made an attempt to reach out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, but Hank flinched sharply and Gavin drew his hand away again.

“I didn’t mean to push you too far, Hank…” Gavin said softly, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “Lean in against me for a little while and just… lets just focus on breathing, ok?”

A warm arm was encircling his shoulders and Hank allowed himself to be guided in against Gavin’s chest. He curled in on himself, staring blankly at the thin cross-hatch of Gavin’s chest hair as his thoughts raced and stung his skin. 

He had fucked this up. He thought...He didn’t know what he thought. He had just wanted to feel Gavin close to him, had wanted to feel something pleasurable after so long in the dark depressive era of his alcoholic days. He didn’t deserve it. He was fat and old, and he couldn’t even receive a goddamn blowie without freaking out. He let go of a long, shaky breath and focused on following the rise and fall of Gavin’s chest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gavin asked gently, but Hank shook his head. He couldn’t. Not yet. “Ok, there’s no pressure. And… just for the record. I’m not mad or disappointed or...whatever. I just want to make sure you’re ok...”

Hank sighed, sitting up a little and running a hand through his own hair. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, no. You don’t have to apologise,” Gavin insisted, his tone so sincere and that Hank didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How was he so calm? By all rights, he should have just run for the door when Hank freaked out. But he hadn’t. He was here, making sure Hank was safe and steady. Hank hadn’t realised how much he needed that. 

“It’s been a while… I just got overwhelmed…” it sounded lame to his own ears but it was the truth. 

Gavin nodded slowly and got up to fetch one of the dressing gowns that had been left in the wardrobe for guests. He helped Hank into it, rubbing his arm affectionately before leaning in against him. The gown helped, made Hank feel less exposed. He smiled weakly and kissed Gavin’s temple, wondering vaguely whether he was still allowed to do something like that… but Gavin smiled and looked up to him. 

“I’d feel like an asshole if I left you on your own… would it help if I stayed here and held you? Nothing sexy, just… share a little warmth and enjoy some skin to skin contact while we sleep?” Gavin asked, his voice soft. A suggestion, not a demand. “Big spoon or little spoon, whichever you want me to be.”

Hank didn’t understand why Gavin still wanted to help him… but he was grateful for it, all the same. “Please… mind being the big spoon?”

Gavin smiled a little brighter and lay down, opening his arms for Hank to get comfortable. He kept his arm high, draped over Hank’s chest, as though he understood more than Hank had shared with him. Maybe he did. 

For a long time, Hank stared at the far wall, listening to the steady, slow breathing of his bed partner. What a mess… but Gavin was still here. And Hank wondered if, maybe, it would do him good to have some understanding company on his travels. Someone like Gavin. So that, when he was ready, he would have someone to talk to about everything that had happened…


	6. A New Dawn, A New Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Gavin strike up a deal and take to the road.   
> And they have a little furry companion to add to the mix.
> 
> (Sometimes a family can be two gay bikers and their fur-baby)

When Hank woke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. The sheets were still crumpled from where Gavin’s body had been tucked in against his, the air seeming all the colder in the absence of his body heat. But he should have seen it coming. The guy had just been looking for a hook up to satisfy his daddy issues or whatever, and he’d ended up with a middle-aged train wreck who’d cried all over him. Far from the sexiest thing Hank could think of. 

He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the smoke-stained ceiling as he tried to gather his thoughts together. It would be ok. He would just get back on the bike and run from this horrible memory, the same as he was running from all the others. He could put Gavin in his wing mirrors and just hope that, if they ever met again, it would be on good terms. He didn’t dare to hope that he might get a chance at a repeat performance (hopefully with less tears next time). He had fucked up. The way he always fucked up. 

Because deep down he knew he didn’t deserve the happiness that Gavin had offered him. Even if it was only for a minute. But he had tried to take it anyway, and this was his punishment.

But there was a small mewling sound from the other side of the room and Hank frowned, squinting down at the time-worn sofa and coffee table set up near the door. A surprised huff of laughter left him as he sat up and watched Gavin feed the stray cat. 

“Thought you left,” Hank said quietly, making it seem almost like a suggestion rather than a confession.

“And give you another insecurity to beat yourself to death with?” Gavin hitched a brow, smirking. “Nah, just got up early and went to get the cat so I could see how she was doing. Didn’t fancy walking the metal walk-way in nothing but my boxers, so figured I might as well get dressed while I was at it.”

In the morning light, Hank could really take in the details of his face. The shadow of stubble that he hadn’t shaved away, the dishevelled way his hair fell without any product, the width of him, the strength of him. Hell, it took strength to face that kind of emotional onslaught and still come back. But then, judging by the matted, emaciated cat cradled lovingly in Gavin’s arms, Hank suspected that Gavin might have the patience and commitment needed to really care about other people. Not just when the going was easy and the times were good, but when things got hard too. 

Maybe… at least, he hoped so. God only knew that he could do with a little emotional support, but he had no idea what he could offer him in return. One sided relationships got toxic quickly and he didn’t want that for Gavin… but he just didn’t know what the younger biker saw in him. 

“How is she holding up?” Hank asked, gradually working his way out of bed. One foot, then the other; his lower back ached from the long ride.

“She’s eating well, which is a good sign. She’ll need a flea bath at some point, just in case, but I can’t see any on her. The main problem is her weight and her scars,” Gavin explained, gesturing to the bacon sandwich that he’d plated up and left on the table. “The way I see it, there’s no damage in the world that some bacon can’t cure. Well, bacon and maybe a little bit of dedicated care and attention.”

“Very funny,” Hank rolled his eyes, but he sat beside his surprising companion and took the sandwich gratefully. “You’ll have your hands full enough as it is with the cat, let alone the fifty year old alcoholic who cries on his hot younger bedfellows.”

“Bedfellows...holy shit, you are old,” Gavin teased, nudging Hank to show that he was only playing. “And hey, listen… if you don’t want company along the road to self enlightenment or whatever, then I totally understand. I’ll watch you drive away on your mid-life crisis machine and maybe we’ll catch up somewhere south of Virginia one day. But here’s the thing. I’ve been riding solo for the last fiften fucking years and it sucks. It sucks hard.”

Hank looked at him when Gavin hesitated, his gaze on the cat as he smoothed her remaining fur back and tried to find the words he needed in the pattern of her scars. Hank could feel it too. The fragile line between them, just waiting for one of them to have the courage to push through it. Just a little push and the wall would fall away, leaving them exposed to each other. 

“I’ve tried joining gangs and it never went well for me. Too hot-headed, you know? I guess you do, given the whole incident last night. But… I’d rather travel with someone by my side. So I can sleep easy at night knowing that there’s someone else there if anyone tries to raid the camp. Or just so I know that, if anything ever happened to my bike, I’d have a way to get somewhere safe or to call a mechanic. Traveling on your own can be stressful as shit. But it’s easier when there’s two of you. So… If you don’t mind the company, I figure we could run the roads together. I mean, I don’t have anywhere in particular I need to be, so I’ll follow wherever you want to go. As long as we got gas in the tanks and roads to drive, I’m happy.”

Hank considered this for a while, nodding to show that he understood. And Gavin had made a lot of points that Hank hadn’t even considered when he’d started out on this whole thing. Being on your own could be dangerous.Aside from people raiding your camps and stealing your stuff, and aside from the risk of getting stranded, there were other things too. Smaller things. Like not having someone to talk to if something happened, or having to spend a night alone under the stars without anyone else to keep you grounded. And there was the drink that would tempt him at every dive bar and motel that he would inevitably stay in when the weather was bad or his back refused to suffer through another night of cold, hard ground. If he had someone by his side, he would be held accountable for his own sobriety. Encouraged, even. And Gavin seemed reliable, if nothing else. You didn’t get that kind of patience out of some ingrained genetic disposition. The kind of patience that Gavin had came from years of experience, of hard work. It was the same kind of compassion and sternness that Hank had seen in dozens of officers over the years. Careful, but caring. 

“I guess there’s no harm in trying it out. We can ride together until the next big city, maybe stop there and see how things are getting on. If we want to part ways there, no hard feelings. But if it works… we can just play it by ear,” Hank suggested, wanting to give Gavin a way out if it got too much. Experience or no, Hank didn’t want to make Gavin feel trapped or accountable for Hank’s safety. “I was about to warn you that I can be a grouchy old bastard who gets caught up in his own dark thoughts, but I guess you’ve seen me pretty much at my worst anyway so…”

Gavin frowned a little, then gave him a confused look. “That was your worst? Well then christ, this is gonna be a cakewalk.”

“Alright, wise guy. Just…” Hank started, but Gavin waved a hand at him in an uncertain gesture and settled himself into a more serious tone.

“No, I just mean… I can handle emotional baggage. I can deal with you needing space sometimes or needing to talk through things until the early hours of the morning. Whatever you need, that’s all fine by me.” he clarified, “But if last night is anything to go by, then I know a few things about you that reassure me that we’re gonna get on just fine.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Hank asked, curious to see what the kid thought he knew.

“I know that, even when you’re emotionally overwhelmed, you don’t lash out. You never got violent or threw your weight around, even though you’re bigger than me and have like an entire career history in a physical job. So I know that my ass is safe, even if you do get emotional.”

That was a fair assessment, and a smart one too. Hank wondered whether Gavin had learned it the hard way. 

“And I also know that you communicate pretty well when prompted, so if something’s bothering you, you’ll just tell me instead of letting it fester. When you got upset, you told me and we got into a more comfortable position. When you didn’t want to talk about things, you told me so, and we just focused on getting you settled down. As long as you keep talking to me, we can find solutions. It stops us from getting into some kind of stupid petty quarrel about who washed the camping pots out last time or whatever.” Gavin added.

“You see a lot of things from small details, Gavin,” Hank praised, finishing his sandwich. “You’d have been a good cop.”

It was Gavin’s turn to scoff, but it was a good natured one. A scoff that said ‘nah, not me’, rather than ‘fuck cops’. Even though Gavin had already tried to do that last one… 

“Yeah, well, I’m not a cop. I’m a vagrant jack of all trades who prefers to keep moving when he can. I get antsy when I spend too long in one spot.”

Hank chuckled and nodded slightly, getting up. “Alright. How about you go and get set up, I’ll get dressed and meet you down there. All my bags are locked up in the side car anyway so we’ll head off once we’re ready.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Gavin winked.

And then Hank made a mistake that he would come to regret in the following weeks. 

“Lieutenant, actually.”

Gavin’s eyes brightened and he smirked, testing the word over his tongue. “Lieutentant...sexy.”

“Fuck’s sake. Just get out,” Hank ordered, but it was good humoured. 

Gavin took the cat and vanished out of the door, collecting his bags and packing them back onto the back of his Kawazaki. By the time Hank made it down the car lot, Gavin had his helmet on and was looking at the sidecar with a fixed curiosity, like he was trying to figure something out. 

“You like it? She cost me a pretty penny but she’s worth it for the storage space,” Hank explained, putting on his own helmet. 

“Yeah… reckon you could fit a cat in there?” Gavin asked, open, blunt. The question just lying between them while Gavin fixed those damn hazel eyes on him from under sinfully thick lashes.

“What? No, Gavin! She’ll piss all over my stuff,” Hank protested.

“What am I meant to do, just put her on the back of the bike and pray she holds on?” Gavin retorted, pouting a little now. It was a childish expression, and yet it somehow fitted him perfectly. Just a little puckering of his lips and his whole face softened into something vulnerable and expressive. 

“Put her in your jacket and zip it up, I dunno.” Hank suggested, knowing damn well that it wouldn’t be any good. “Or, and this is a wild suggestion… but you could leave the stray cat here. She’s survived however many years on her own so far, she’ll handle a few more.”

“She’s survived like one and half years, judging by her size.”

“Wait, serious? She looks like seventeen or something,” Hank blinked. 

“Yeah, because she’s stressed and starving and clearly fighting with the other cats here,” Gavin answered, his voice softening as he petted the cat. “Look, I know that I’m not exactly in the best position to barter with you or whatever. But, she can’t make it much longer on her own. And sometimes just a little bit of love and a change of scenery can make a whole lot of difference, you know?”

And damn if Hank didn’t know it. Even the prospect of having some sober company on his travels had stilled some of the panicked fluttering in his chest. And Gavin had already proved himself a patient and considerate companion. Hank sighed and walked over, scratching the cat’s fur gently with a leather-gloved fingertip as he thought it over. 

“Ok, look… we’ll move some of my stuff over to your bike, just in case. Just the light stuff like the tents and clothes. Fabrics, mainly. Then I’ll tuck the rest into the footwell, cover it over with the camping tarp and she’ll have the seat to sleep on while we drive. But I’m putting your sleeping bag on the seat in case she has an accident,” Hank negotiated, starting to open up the side car’s roof and slot it back into the chassis. He pulled out the things he needed to move around and did his best to fit as much as possible in the footwell before covering it all over. The whole thing was a fuss and a half, but by the end of the ordeal, there was a decent sized cat bed space for the stray. The Stray…

“If she’s traveling with us, she needs a name. I’m not spending this whole trip referring to her as ‘the cat’.” Hank advised, helping Gavin to sort out the rest of the materials. He hadn’t noticed until now, but the cat was nestled in Gavin’s leather jacket, cradled against his chest while he secured their cargo on the back of his bike. She seemed oddly tame for a stray. Like she was tired of the harsh conditions of the world and was ready for a little loving. For some warmth. Hank could sympathise. It was hard to be overly cautious or suspicious of strangers when the alternative looked more dangerous than anything else you might encounter.

“Hm, I was thinking about that too. Not sure what to go with though,” Gavin added, “I think her fur’s gonna be a light ginger when it eventually grows back. Maybe a little bit of tabby in there, I’m not too sure yet.”

“Hm, how about Penny?” Hank offered, remembering a kitten that his neighbour had when he was growing up. He’d always been more of a dog person himself, even back then, but Penny had been a good cat, never caused any trouble.

“Penny, that’s kinda cute. Also kind of reminds me of that killer clown movie, so double win,” Gavin laughed, cuddling the cat close against his chest and looking down at her. “Whatdya think, Penny? Is that a good enough name for now?”

To Hank’s surprise, the cat gave an uncertain little chirrup of a meow; mostly likely because Gavin was suddenly squishing her against his chest. But it was cute.

“Alright, Dr Dolittle, move your ass or we’ll lose the sunlight.” 

Gavin rolled his eyes but gave a cheeky ‘yessir, lieutenant, sir” before placing the sleeping bag over the seat and delicately placing the cat on top. He thought for a moment then fetched a small plastic container from his pack and half filled it with water. He pressed it between the sleeping bag and the side of the car so that it wouldn’t spill (hopefully) and left a handful of jerky on the sleeping bag next to her. 

“If she’s sick…” Hank started, but was hastily cut off. 

“It’ll be on my sleeping bag, and I’ll just have to share yours for the night. Oh no, what a shame,” Gavin winked, closing the side car cover over and securing it in place. He laughed softly at the sight of the cat tucked away and protected in a little plastic bubble, actually giving her a little wave before he mounted his own bike and kicked the engine to life.

Hank shook his head, following suit. He wondered how long this would last… the easy companionship, the peace between them. They had started with Hank’s worst, and he would try to do better. But a vulnerable part of his depression reminded him that someone’s patience could only last for so long. Sooner or later, they were bound to get sick of his griping and would leave. 

He just hoped that he would be able to keep Gavin’s company until the next city over. Maybe longer. They would just have to see how it went.


	7. The Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Hank take to the open road and learn a little more about each other.

The ride along the interstate was a pleasant one, despite Hank’s initial worries. He had been a little stressed out at first, trying to monitor his speed so that Gavin could keep up easily, slowing to a near stop at junctions so that the younger biker would know which way he was turning, would have a chance to rev his engine for Hank’s attention and direct them a different way if they needed to change course. But Gavin kept to his side or his slip-stream , depending on the traffic, and seemed happy to follow him down whatever path or route Hank felt like taking. 

He wondered, and not for the first time, what Gavin’s plans were. Did he want to drive every road in the US? Did he want to get to a particular city so that he could live out some wild dream? Or was the truth more practical, less optimistic? It was possible that Gavin rode the tarmac every single day, aimless and without a destination, because he had nowhere else to go and the roads couldn’t judge him. 

He’d talked about getting a bike as soon as he was old enough and taking off, not wanting to stay in one spot for any length of time if he could help it. And it made Hank wonder how long Gavin had been surviving on his own. It was a wonder that he hadn’t turned to drugs or crime to fund his survival, but Hank supposed that there were good, honest ways to make a living if you knew how. He would have to ask Gavin about it sometime, try to coax some of his story from him while they were sat at a campfire or when they shared a meal. 

In return, Hank would have to share his own story, and the thought forced cold agony through his veins. Maybe some stories were better left in the wing mirror after all. 

As they drew closer to a service station, Gavin overtook him and gradually slowed, signalling with a slow flap of his arm for Hank to stop. As they pulled into the car lot, Hank flicked up the visor to his helmet and stretched out his broad shoulders. Gavin dismounted and walked over, grinning. “Bathroom break, watch my bike?”

Hank nodded and turned to look at the cat. Penny, he reminded himself. She was sitting up in the side car now, looking at the world from her little submarine bubble. She seemed calmer than she had the night before, less feral. Hank reached for the water canteen and took a long swig, then risked opening the side car to top Penny’s water up too. She was drinking a reasonable amount and it looks like she’d been eating the jerky gradually while they drove, which was a good sign. At least they knew that her teeth were probably ok.

“Hey, Gavin! Speaking of bathroom breaks, how do you want me to handle Penny?” Hank called, picking the cat up to give her some attention. The ex-stray wriggled in his arms, not used to being handled, but eventually settled and accepted his careful petting. When Gavin emerged again, he considered the problem and looked around, as though the answer would just drop out of the sky and hit him. 

“I guess we’ll just have to put her down and see what happens. If she runs off, she runs off… but hopefully she won’t stray far. Besides, seems like a good time to take a break and have some food,” Gavin reasoned.

Hank nodded and heaved himself off of the bike, popping Penny down on the ground. For an uncertain moment, she just stood there, eyes wide and scanning the horizon. But then she took a few tentative steps towards the open field along the roadside and wandered off into the long grass. When Hank looked at Gavin, he could see worry in his brow, bright eyes fixed on the grass as though it might turn sentient and eat his new pet. 

“Come on, let’s stretch our legs and grab some food,” Hank suggested, unzipping his jacket and allowing the cool afternoon air to soothe his overly warm chest and sides. 

Gavin gave the grass another wistful look before following Hank towards the service station. They took a lap of the car lot first, stretching out their cramped legs and getting a little bit of air after so long under the clip of the helmet. Then Gavin secured a table at the small service diner while Hank bought coffee and two plates of burger and fries. Not the healthiest, but he would worry about that another time. Right now he was in the mood for something greasy and filling. Besides, he was already working on kicking one bad habit, he didn’t want to overdo it by kicking the fast food too. 

“How are you finding it?” Gavin asked when Hank eventually came back with their food. “Traveling with someone else, I mean.”

Hank took his seat and smiled, nodding vaguely. “Yeah, not too shabby. It seems weird, but it’s less lonely. Even though we’re not talking or doing anything together. Just nice to know there’s someone with you,” Hank reasoned, making a start on the fries.

Gavin smiled brighter, apparently pleased with the answer. But it was early days. Hank just hoped that Gavin’s loneliness was strong enough to keep him close to the ruined old drunk. And shit he felt bad about that thought. He winced a little and tried to pick a more acceptable topic to distract himself with. 

“Been anywhere interesting on your travels,” Hank asked, “If you’ve been riding since you were a teen, that’s got to be a good decade or more on the road.”

Gavin looked at him then, picking up on the guesstimated number, and he smirked. “How old do you think I am?” he asked.

“Ah shit, I dunno.” Hank laughed dryly, trying to work from the information he had. “You said you started driving when you were old enough, so that’s what? Fifteen? Then just by looking at you...I can’t tell if you’re closer to 25 or 40.”

“Twenty five,” Gavin gave a low whistle of appreciation and rested his chin on the back of his hand in a cutesie gesture. “Why Lieutenant, you flatter me.”

“Alright, enough with the Lieutenant crap. How old are you?”

“Thirty eight,” Gavin admitted, and Hank could see it now. Yeah, thirty eight looked right. But he had a young face, soft in the right places, but strong all the same. He looked good for thirty eight. “Been on the road for 23 years, give or take.”

Hank tried not to think about the 14 years that lay between them in terms of age, and what that meant about the intimacy they had shared. In a way, he was relieved that Gavin wasn’t younger, but he supposed it didn’t really change a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. Gavin was a consenting adult, well beyond the folly of his teen years and he was old enough to know what he wanted. If the guy had a thing for older men then who was Hank to question it?

“How about you?” Gavin asked, his voice gentle but bright, keeping up a cheerful atmosphere despite the loaded question. “You said you’re retired, so I’m guessing somewhere near fifty?”

“Fifty two,” Hank confessed, taking a depressed bite of his burger. “And I’ll thank you to not remind me.”

Gavin raised a brow and made a melodramatic show of checking him out from the side of the table. Hank rolled his eyes and met his gaze. 

“What?”

“If I look as hot as that when I’m fifty, I’ll consider myself blessed,” Gavin flattered, but… it wasn’t flattery. It was sincere, honest. A compliment, and one that didn’t come with labels attached, no hidden cost. Gavin liked his appearance, and that was all there was to it. Nothing to be gained or bartered, and it made Hank blush a little. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well… consider it the pay-off for thirty years of a physically demanding job and a strict work out regime before I called it quits.” Hank explained, trying to find a way to turn the conversation back to Gavin, to take himself out from under the microscope. “Besides, you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh yeah? Just wait till you get to see the full Gavin Experience,” the younger biker grinned, tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt to reveal just a little tease of skin. 

And Hank couldn’t help but regret not seeing more of Gavin when he had the chance. Maybe there would be another chance… maybe. But he didn’t want to hold out too much hope. He couldn’t afford to face the disappointment if it all went belly-up. 

“I look forward to it,” Hank huffed a laugh, finishing up with his food. 

Once they were done eating, Gavin stretched and looked expectantly towards the bike, a little worry in his features. 

“Want to head back and see if Penny’s around?” Hank offered, getting to his feet. He hesitated for a moment, then offered Gavin his hand, either to help him up or...perhaps…

Gavin’s fingers linked with his own and stayed there, the warmth of his palm pressing into the rough, calloused skin of Hank’s hand. It was nice. Just to have that small thing. Gavin smiled and walked close, his gaze scanning over the horizon and focusing on thicker patches of undergrowth until he spotted the faintly orange-brown shape sunning herself on the low wall at the edge of the car lot. 

“Hey Penny, you came back!” Gavin called, and Hank couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with his smile. 

Christ, he needed to watch himself. This was going to end up causing him a whole world of heartache if he wasn’t careful.

Gavin let go of his hand so that he could scoop the cat up from the wall and cradle her in his arms. The food and the rest had done the poor creature some good. Gavin scratched at her ears and neck affectionately, giving a hushed gasp of pain when the cat sank her teeth into his wrist. He bit back a curse and disengaged her from his skin before placing her in the side car again.

“Might be a while until she’s fully tame, Gav,” Hank teased, picking up the bundle of camping supplies from the side car and back of his bike. “Want to set up camp somewhere on the green?”

“You asking me to pop a tent with you, Hank?” Gavin smirked, picking up his own camping gear. “Yeah, sure. Pick a spot, I’ll make sure Penny’s got food and water then I’ll come join you.”

Hank nodded and carried his stuff over to a flat, vacant piece of land that had been set aside for campers. As he worked on getting the tent set up, he watched the way Gavin fussed over the cat, maybe stealing a glance or two at his ass when he bent over. What could he say, he was only human. 

By the time Gavin joined him, it was starting to get dark. Gavin placed an empty milk bottle over a torch to form a makeshift lamp, then spread his camping gear on the floor. He looked to the pile of poles and fabric, then back to Hank’s tent. 

“You know, it’s gonna be a cold night,” he started, innocently enough, but his smirk told a different story. “Seems kind of dumb to go to all the effort to putting my tent up, then getting cold in the night and ending up in your tent anyway.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that what’s gonna happen?” Hank raised a brow, considering this for a long moment. The last time he’d shared a bed with Gavin had not exactly been a positive experience. But… that was only half of it, really. Sure, he’d lost his shit and damn near chased Gavin off forever, but… it had been nice to have someone in bed with him, sharing warmth, slowly synchronizing their breathing as they slept. 

“And besides, if we only use one tent, then we always have a spare for when one of them is damaged. You know? Like, why risk damaging two tents in a thunderstorm when we can take our chances with one, and chase away the dread of the thunder with the comforting drone of your snoring.”

“Oh wow, thanks.” Hank gave him a stunned look but it melted into laughter when he realised that Gavin was mostly teasing. “Alright, fine. As long as you’re sure.”

“As long as I’m… Hank, I’m the one who suggested it. You think I’m gonna be all hesitant about it when you agree?” he teased, calling back as he took his tent equipment back to the bike.

Hank shifted things around inside the tent to make room for the second sleeping bag; after a moment of consideration, he unzipped both bags and unzipped them so that they were joined together as one big sleeping bag. And he found that the thought of sharing the bed with Gavin soothed some deep aching part of himself, a part of his needs that he’d been neglecting for so long. Not just the physical intimacy, but the social vulnerability too. Sure, he’d had acquaintances at the bar, fair-weather friends who shared the misery of a dive bar with him. But it had been a few years since he had allowed himself to exist in a small space with someone else, to allow them to see him sober, sleeping, talking about things that didn’t revolve around drink or cards. He needed this. And maybe Gavin needed it too.


	8. Pitching a Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the pun in the title, this chapter is fairly SFW. Hank has a bit of a crisis about sharing a sleeping bag with Gavin, but the chaotic biker helps him to feel more confident about his body.

Hank debated with himself for a long minute about whether he should sleep in his boxers like he usually did on nights like this, or whether he should wear something else so that he wasn't as self-conscious. He'd feel more comfortable in clothes, but he didn't really have a lot in the way of bed-wear, and he didn't want to wear jeans or slacks to bed. He cursed quietly to himself and searched through his rucksack, trying to see where he'd stored his cotton pajama pants; he was pretty sure they were buried right at the bottom somewhere, or had he stored them with his winter clothes? 

Before he could find them, Gavin tapped the front of the tent and unzipped the top, "Hope you're indecent, I'm coming in." 

Hank rolled his eyes at the flirtatious comment, but in all honesty it kind of soothed his worries. He knew Gavin liked the way he looked, although God only knew why, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad to sleep next to him in nothing but boxers. But then if Gavin was also just wearing boxers... there wouldn't be a lot of material to hide any 'reaction' he might have to the sight. Christ he was overthinking this. Why did he have to get himself so fucking turned about over the littlest things. 

But then, this wasn't a little thing, was it? 

This was the first time Hank had really connected with someone since his divorce, and it had been a long time since anyone had seen him naked, or semi-naked. And the last time hadn't really boosted Hank's confidence. He sighed slightly and dropped the rucksack, unable to find the pants and resigning himself to a night of feeling exposed.

"You ok, Hank?" Gavin asked, crawling into the tent and sitting on one side of the sleeping bag. "You sound pissed off... if you don't want to share the tent, I can still-"

"No. No, it's not that. I want you to," Hank interrupted, placing a hand on Gavin's to reassure him, but also to ground himself. "Just getting caught up in my own head. And I can't find my pajamas."

Gavin nodded, not pushing for more information or throwing him fake platitudes. It was something that Hank really appreciated about his newfound companion - he listened and allowed Hank to have his insecurities without trying to sweep them under the proverbial carpet. It was nice, to just exist and have flaws, and to be accepted all the same.  
"If you'd feel more comfortable with bottoms, I can probably find a spare pair in my bag," Gavin offered, looking through his own rucksack and drawing out a worn, faded pair for Hank to try. They looked big enough (most of Hank's weight rested on his stomach, so his hips were still a reasonable width), and Hank liked the pattern; a dark red plaid with black and white threading throughout. 

"You don't mind me borrowing them for a while?" Hank checked, "I might stretch them out."

"Firstly, shut the fuck up. You're not going to stretch out the damn pants," Gavin chided, but his tone was a delicate balance of teasing and reassurance. "And secondly, you can have them if you want. I don't usually wear much to bed. I just keep them in my bag in case I need to wander to the bathroom at night or whatever. Just to check though, is it ok if I just sleep in my boxers?"

Hank tried not to sound too enthusiastic when he answered, the thought having played on his mind in detail over the last few minutes. "No, I don't mind. However you feel comfortable."

Gavin smiled and sat back, pulling off his t-shirt. Hank bit his lip, hard, and was powerless to stop himself from staring at the toned expanse of Gavin's torso as it was revealed to him. He was athletically built, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, but he had a softness covering his muscle that made Hank feel just a little better about himself. He caught sight of a simple tattoo over Gavin's left pec and he tried to work out what it was. It looked like a triangle, but made up of three little 'Y' shapes. Curiosity getting the better of him, and needing to break the tension before Gavin took off his jeans, Hank gestured to it. 

"What's that for?" he asked, gesturing to the tattoo and having to stop himself from reaching out to trace it with a fingertip.

Gavin followed Hank's gesture and looked to the tattoo, apparently only just remembering that it was there in the first place, "Oh that. I got it when I was traveling with the Deviants. Kind of stupid in hindsight, but everyone in the gang had one so it was part of the initiation ritual, I guess. I stopped travelling with them years ago, they started getting involved in smuggling so I got the hell out of there. At least the tattoo's kind of subtle though."

Hank made a little 'hm' noise of acknowledgement and took off his own shirt, followed by the jeans and then hastily wiggling into the pajama pants. His stomach hung over the waistband slightly and he grimaced, wondering whether it was too late to find a fresh t-shirt. But as he looked up to search for his bag, he caught Gavin's eye and stopped. The other biker had stopped what he was doing to check him out, appraising him and nodding his approval. Hank gave him a bashful smile and decided he could live with being shirtless for a night - besides, the sleeping bag would cover him up anyway. It wasn't like he was going for a walk through Central Park or anything. He started to work his way into the sleeping bag, unrolling an additional duvet to place over the top for added warmth. He figured it would be nice to have some human warmth beside him too, like they'd shared at the motel room.

As Hank watched, Gavin pushed the jeans over his hips and gave Hank a cheeky little wiggle before pulling them off completely. And goddamn, he had a good ass. Hank had kind of assumed that years of riding would have given Gavin a little more cushioning in the boot, but he was just toned enough to hold shape and soft enough to tempt Hank into reaching out and squeezing. He didn't dare, but he wanted to. Eventually, Gavin turned out the light and sidled into the sleeping bag; his body so impossibly close, and yet Hank couldn't help but feel like it wasn't close enough.

Braver than Hank could ever hope to be, Gavin pressed close against him and worked an arm over his chest, setting his head against the pillow of muscle and fat where his shoulder and chest met. Hank stretched that arm out, getting comfortable with the weight of Gavin's body against his, and wrapped his arm around him loosely. Gavin made a happy sound and traced his fingertips in slow, shallow strokes against Hank's chest. Testing the waters, Gavin hooked a leg over his companion's large thigh and pressed his hips close. It wasn't an invitation for something more sexual - but it was a kind of comfortable intimacy that Hank hadn't expected. 

"Hey..." Gavin's voice cut through the darkness of the tent, hovering in the air around them. Hank made a sound to show that he was listening, and Gavin went on. "Thanks for letting me sleep next to you like this. I know you feel self-conscious so if you don't feel comfortable then just push me off and I promise I won't take it personally."

Hank breathed a scoff of laughter and turned a little to meet his gaze, just about managing to find the hazel irises in the dark. He wasn't used to talking about this stuff so openly, like it was normal... but Gavin made it easier. He squeezed his companion close, nuzzling his hairline affectionately. 

"Thanks, Gav. But I think I'm ok with this," he explained, feeling a warm palm against his cheek, keeping him close. "It's kind of nice having someone to share a bed with after all this time. You get so used to the quiet that you don't realise how much you miss this, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Gavin murmured in response, nuzzling his nose against Hank's neck, toying along his jaw. "If I promise to keep my hands above your waistband, could we make out for a while? Nothing too heavy, just... I want to feel close to you."

Hank blushed deeply, the question tingling over his skin like a thousand little sparks of need, making him feel over-sensitive and vulnerable. But he nodded and mumbled a quiet 'I'd like that' before his doubts could convince him that it was better to decline. Gavin grinned and adjusted his weight, placing a palm gently to the back of Hank's neck.   
As their lips met, Hank sighed happily and let himself be led by his partner. Gavin went slow, starting with soft, brief kisses and working his way up until they were both sinking fingers into hair, running hands absently over chests, tongues pressing and parting in a desperate dance. Eventually, Hank had to break away to catch his breath, holding Gavin close against his chest. He was hard and there was no hiding it from Gavin while they were pressed flush against each other... but he could feel Gavin's mirrored excitement pressing into his own thigh. He tried to force himself to relax, to settle himself a little. 

"Fuck, you're a great kisser," Hank praised, gripping and smoothing Gavin's hair in an affectionate little motion. 

"Mm, speak for yourself," Gavin responded, his voice pitched low and husky. But he cuddled in at Hank's side again and didn't push for more, not wanting to taint this moment with any negative feelings. He knew that it would take a while for Hank to feel comfortable, and he was ok with that. He just enjoyed being close to him and sharing in whatever affections the ex-cop was willing to give him. After all, it had been a long time for him too, and it had been even longer since he felt like someone cared about the person he was, rather than just wanting him for his body. So, he was happy to go as slow as Hank wanted, because this wasn't just about a physical need. They were both searching for something more meaningful. At least, he hoped so.

With a yawn, Gavin settled himself in against Hank's shoulder again and closed his eyes. They had another long day of riding tomorrow, so they would need to get some sleep. "As hot as this has been, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. I'm gonna call it a night... G'night Hank."

"Night," Hank smiled and kissed his temple, getting comfortable with Gavin cradled in the space between his body and arm. He followed the movement of his breathing, setting his own breath to it by gradual degrees. And it was there, in a tiny plastic tent at the side of a highway service station, that Hank realised he was the happiest that he had been in a long time.


End file.
